Horult Chiv’s demeanour suggested some measure of unease, if not frustration, but as Rancept knew neither of these two people well he remained silent, wiping up the last of the stew’s gravy with a piece of bread, pausing regularly in his chewing to draw a breath or two.

Finally, Sekarrow dropped her fingers from the strings and settled the instrument into her lap as she leaned back in the chair. Eyeing her brother, she said, ‘Caution is not a flaw.’

Horult rapped the tabletop with his knuckles, a sharp sound that made Rancept jump. ‘It has its place, I grant you. But not in this matter.’

‘He fears what he might lose,’ she said.

‘So much that what he fears may well come to pass.’

Her thin brows lifted. ‘He will lose you?’

Horult started, and then glanced away. ‘No. Of course not. We have had disagreements before.’

‘You mistake my meaning, brother.’

‘In what manner?’

Sighing, Sekarrow looked across to Rancept. ‘Castellan, I beg you, indulge my dimwitted sibling with an explanation.’

Grunting, Rancept said, ‘Not for me to intrude, unless invited.’

Leaning forward, Horult gestured. ‘Consider it done. Tell me, what so dims my wits that I comprehend nothing of my sister’s warning?’

‘You command his Houseblades, sir. On a field of battle, soldiers die. Officers die.’

The knuckles rapped again, hard enough to momentarily silence the dishwashers in the other room. ‘That is… selfish. What value this presumption of responsibility when the first threat sees it shy away? I am a soldier. That entails risks. We are in a civil war. A pretender seeks to claim a throne.’

‘Not entirely accurate,’ Sekarrow murmured, returning to tuning her iltre. ‘He but seeks a second throne, to stand beside the first, and of the two, at least his would be seen. I have heard tell that no vision proves keen enough to pierce the veil of darkness our beloved Mother now wraps about herself. Indeed, some say she is now nothing more than darkness manifest, a thing of absences so profound as to give the illusion of presence.’

‘Poets can play games with such notions all they like,’ Horult retorted. ‘One throne, two thrones, it matters not one whit. I dream of the day when pedantry ceases to be.’

Smiling, Sekarrow said, ‘And I dream of the day it is no longer necessary. Precision of language is to be valued. Don’t you agree, castellan? How many wars and tragedies might we have avoided if meanings were not only clear, but agreed upon? In fact, I would hazard the suggestion that language lies at the root of all conflict. Misapprehension as the prelude to violence.’

Rancept pushed the plate away and settled back, collecting up his tankard of weak ale. ‘The buck dragged down by wolves might disagree.’

‘Hah!’ snorted Horult Chiv.